


scared to speak (with someone's tooth)

by Not_A_Valid_Opinion



Category: Green Eggs and Ham (Cartoon), Green Eggs and Ham - Dr. Seuss
Genre: 3 short snippets about sam's COLOURFUL past, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Sharing a Bed, boo abusive foster homes me and my homies hate abusive foster homes, by which i mean he's a criminal and guy loves him anyway, hand holding hnnnngh gay people, i refuse to erase michellee we're saying she and guy are mutually not in love and good friends, im so sad you guys i just wanna be queerbaited by a dr suess cartoon can i have this, no beta reader you have to put up with my dyslexic ass you HAVE to, sam has a history tho i feel like i gotta write a fic about it :/, undiagnosed learning disability
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-18
Updated: 2020-07-18
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:48:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25367863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Not_A_Valid_Opinion/pseuds/Not_A_Valid_Opinion
Summary: He wonders who Sam is. He’ll likely never have an answer to that, but he has made his own for it. A clingy little man. A loving little man. A criminal, with the sweetest smile, and honest eyes.A friend.(A friend…?)3 times Sam's criminal history comes back to haunt him, only now, he has Guy.
Relationships: Guy Am I & Michellee (Green Eggs and Ham), Guy Am I & Sam I Am (Green Eggs and Ham), Guy Am I/Sam I Am (Green Eggs and Ham)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 73





	scared to speak (with someone's tooth)

**Author's Note:**

> as i am writing this i accidentally deleted an entire fic off my goshdarned phone notes i SWEAR my icloud is filled it didnt even go to my recently deleted im suing. but it wasn't this fic so even tho im stressed to heck i will post this before i fuck up and accidentally delete this to lmaooo rip cry cry cry. it was a trans!jaskier fic for the witcher the world wasnt ready for my trans!jaskier fic hnngh im gonna go watch pacific rim and try to cheer up but anyway i tried to do that narrator voice at the side and i started to rhyme and then got bored and stopped so whatever who cares enjoy

Guy-Am-I was giving new things in a life a try. 

He’d tried green eggs and ham, and to say he didn’t like them would be a lie. 

He’d watched a sad movie, and for once, he’d let himself cry. 

But hotwiring a car? 

“Sam,” he screams, “why?” 

His companion raised an eyebrow, not bothered. “Why what?” he asks, and sparks fly. His small hands drop the cables with a hoot of success. Quickly, he hops up into the seat, then slides to the next. He pats the driver seat where he’d just sat, clearly indicating for Guy to join. 

He doesn’t. 

Sam frowns. “C’mon, buddy, you know I can't reach the pedals. No accommodations for folks under three feet! Heheh,” he chuckles, sounding like he’d really rather be on the move. He continues to drum the seat as he speaks. “Heck, even the BADGUYS had boosters under their seats. This is ableist!” 

“It- ugh. Sam, why are you hotwiring a car? That’s a crime, we can’t just be-“ 

“Yayayaya buddy listen,” his buddy hops up, tugs him forcibly into the seat, “you gotta trust me and you’ve gotta drive. There’s people over there that want me, and not in the way that makes you feel fuzzy on the inside, but rather the kind that means dead-or-alive. So if you would-“ he makes the sound effect of a car engine. With the motions to accompany it, Guy turns away, looking around rapidly. He doesn’t see anyone- oh. There, across the lot, was a man with- 

Well. That was a gun for sure. And he did NOT look happy to see Sam. 

The man was tall, fuzzy, and tan. With the gun in his hands, it was no wonder Sam ran. 

“Let’s go, please,” Sam whines. Guy hits the pedal, and pulls the car out of the lot. They’d only been getting dinner, something to eat before turning in for the night and beginning their road trip towards the mystery Sam had been looking for an answer to his whole life. Guy wanted to help, and he wasn’t going to let Sam go off on his own, not after knowing what sorts of trouble the guy could get into. He didn’t want Sam to go off alone because, well. Sam was his friend. His best friend, who needed him, then. 

“Sam-The-Man!” screams the man with the weapon as they pull the car away. Sam peers at him from his spot in the seat next to Guy, watching him become an angry speck in the distance and laughing. 

Sam waves. “Nice seeing you again!” he shouts back, though Guy doubts the man can hear him. A gunshot zooms past the car, then another, and Guy turns a corner faster than the speed limit where bullets couldn’t bend past (not to his knowledge). After a few more moments of cautious watching, Sam sits back down in the seat; he pulls on his seatbelt as though the thought had just occurred to him, and Guy realizes he hadn’t had the chance to pull his own on. He waits until they reach a red light to tug his own on, finally getting the courage to say something once it’s apparent Sam won’t speak first. 

“So... how’d you know that guy?” he asks carefully. 

Sam drums his fingers on the seat. The car they’d stolen had a rather boring interior, and Sam blended into the yellow of it, though his head stood out and his eyes did even more. “Um... I may have. Made him upset with me? Just once! And boy does he hold a grudge,” he laughs, sounding entirely causal, like the fear has dissipated now that the man was nowhere in sight. 

Guy raises an eyebrow and continues to drive as the light changes. “Ya, okay, but what did you do? If you. Uh, don’t mind my asking.” 

His smaller friend looks at him in surprise. “Oh! I don’t mind. I just, uh, don’t know if you want to hear it.” 

Guy tries not to take his eyes off the road, but he chances a glance at Sam. The smaller man is rubbing his elbow anxiously, looking out the window. 

Guy turns back to the road. He’s not sure where to drive, but he doesn’t want to go too far- they can’t keep this car. Gun’s are fairly hard to get your hands on these days- the city they're in has some very notable laws against it after a long history of violence within it. Nowadays it was the safest place to be, really. Or it would be, if you weren’t Sam-I-Am. 

Guy frowns. “I won’t judge you, you know. If that’s what you think. I know that you have a,” he lifts a hand off the wheel to twirl it around, and Sam’s eyes follow the motion, “colourful past. And if it’s something you’d rather keep private, I won’t push. But I won’t judge, either. Got that, Sam-The-Man?” 

Sam laughs at the obvious alias, and it trails off oddly. He hums. “Ya. I do. Thanks, Guy.” 

Guy smiles. Sam doesn’t tell him- in fact, he starts to ramble about a good spot they could dump the car a ways off, where they could hop back on the bus that should still be headed the same way, albeit a longer route. The plan sounds solid, explained very lightly though clearly thought-through. Sam had done this before, probably many times. 

Sam was a criminal, after all. 

But Guy knew Sam was a person, and a good one, at that. Sure, he was… unconventional. Guy had to adjust to him, a _lot,_ and it took a while, but eventually they fit. He still had Michellee, and E.B., and Sam too. His family again, as well, because Sam had brought them back together. Guy’s life was filled with people he never had, and so was Sam’s, because they were sticking together- Guy wasn’t about to lose the family he’d finally let into his heart. 

Accepting _every_ part of Sam, however, tended to be a challenge. 

Guy was an inventor. He loved challenges. He’d forgotten that somewhere along the way, but he’d never let himself forget it again. People, though, when they themselves were the challenge; it was a different discussion altogether. 

It wasn’t his area of expertise. 

They ditch the car. 

Well, Guy was a new man, for that one could be certain. 

But the thing about emotions, when they curve downfall like stock currency, when they start to worsen? 

That’s when they start to come out on another person. 

It was clear Sam couldn’t read. 

Directions, he could do. That was all it was, at first, so it wasn’t quite noticeable. North, east, south, west- his own name, logos, things regularly said out loud- green eggs and ham on a food menu; those he could do, no issue. That was all it was, at first, so what was there to notice? 

Well, when they rent a motel (two beds, same room) and Guy leaves in the middle of the night, needing some fresh air because he just couldn’t _sleep,_ it becomes a problem. In the form of screaming, loud enough to wake Mr. Jenkins all the way on Chickeraffe Island. 

Guy was only sitting outside, staring up at the stars and letting the cool air of night ruffle through his fur. Sometimes, sleep didn’t work. He’d invented lots of things, sure, but none were a cure for that. Sure, there was medicine, but he’d long run out of his prescription to help kill the world while the sun was sure of it, and since finding Sam he’d been too exhausted for it to be an issue. He’d been doing better, sleeping soundly. But tonight was a calm night. And it was restless as a result. 

But the night sky reminded him of his pinwheels, back home, where he’d used to do everything he could to forget. Now, it was a kinder memory, a kinder place. He saw it in the night sky, and it was a good feeling to chase. 

It _was,_ at least. Sam’s distinct voice, crying out, “GUY?!?!” from all the way back at the room. Instantly, Guy was up and running. He could hear people mumbling and groaning in the rooms around, clearly woken and startled by the sound, but it wasn’t them he was concerned with. He’s about to swipe his cardkey into the slot when the door opens into his face, and he’s not sure which is worse- the impact of the wood with his muzzle or the tiny furry body that comes colliding into him with it. He falls over, Sam landing right onto his chest, both extremely confused and panicking. 

“Wh- Guy! Oh, Guy, I thought-” Sam says, startled, but then the recognition properly sets in and his eyes are closed shut, face shoved back into Guy’s fur. Whatever he says after that is lost in a muffle. 

Guy is still shaken. “Sam, what happened, are you okay?” 

Sam doesn’t respond for a while. Guy lays there awkwardly, rubbing a hand along the smaller man's back, because it felt like he was shaking, though that could have just been Guy’s own heart rate struggling to calm down. The floor was disgusting- a tacky brown carpet with stains and strands of hair- not fur, no, notably hair- woven between it. It was a cheap place, seeing as they were both tight on cash and would likely need to find a way to make some sometime soon. Guy’s parents had been happy to lend him some bruckles, but he’d feel like he was mooching if he started to rely on them. Guy returning to making inventions could help both save and earn cash, but it hasn’t taken off yet, and his stuff still exploded all the time. 

Cheap motel, dead of night, and finally Sam says quietly, “I thought that you left. Or- or that someone came in and took you, because honestly, this is a really shady motel, and I’ve made a lot of mad friends I wouldn’t quite call my friends in this lifetime.” 

Guy’s eyes soften. Sam pulls away, looking everywhere but at him, and Guy rests his hands on his shoulders. “Sam, I’d never leave on my own. Not with you still here, not if it means leaving you behind. I- I left a note, Sam. By the lamp?” he tells him, looking for some sort of reaction, only to be met with a confused gaze. “I figured if you woke up and saw I wasn’t there, you’d turn the lamp on and see the note.” 

Sam just blinks at him. Guy huffs a little, not unkindly, and pushes himself and Sam up. He pulls the confused man into the room behind him and closes the door behind them, tossing the door key onto his bed before showing him to the counter with the lamp and note between their beds. He picks it up and hands it to him. “See?” 

Sam stares at it. “Oh. Ya, I guess I… didn’t. Weird... “ 

It was late. Perhaps he really had missed it, though Guy had even drawn arrows all over it, making it as obvious as possible. And the lamp was already on in the room, meaning Sam had turned on the light. So how did he miss that? 

Guy wants to put it behind him, but it lingers, even as Sam starts to shrug, yawn, and stretch. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay! Sorry for the scare, ‘ol pal. Let’s head back to bed, ya? What were you doing out?” 

“It says what I was doing in that note, there.” 

Sam’s eyes flit to it for a moment before they land back on Guy’s. “Ah, it doesn’t matter. I’m gonna get some more rest. It’s super early still!” 

He puts the notebook down on the counter again, and Guy’s neat handwriting stares back at him. Sam is already tucking himself back into bed, and he clicks off the light without asking. 

Guy clicks it back on. “You didn’t answer my question.” 

Sam turns back to face him in the bed. “Hmm?” 

“In the note. Why don’t you read it?” 

“Ugh, Guy, it’s like, two in the morning. Why don’t we answer questions in the morning, hey?” 

“Sam. Please? It’s, um,” he thinks, fiddles his fingers. A minor con, but Sam has done much, much worse, “important, to me.” 

Sam stares at him. His eyes narrow. “Then… why don’t you just ask it?” 

Oh, man, Guy was not good at cons, was he? “Um… because I worded it really well on paper? Better than I could articulate right now. You know, sometimes words just uh. Get away from you,” he laughs, the sound very off, even in his own ears. 

Sam clearly doesn’t believe him. That, or there’s another reason why he doesn’t reach for the paper. “The lighting in here is off. I won’t be able to see the words.” 

“Oh, I can turn on the tv. The static should be just enough, combined with the lamp.” 

The silence is very, very rude. It feels pointed, though neither want to be doing the pointing- not with fingers or words. It’s a matter of owning up or moving on. 

The standstill is a gross feeling under his fur. Guy fights the urge to itch, fearing Sam might see it as a tell. 

The other, however, is starting to look rather upset. Guy doesn’t want to make him upset- what is he doing? What is the point of this? He had a hunch, but it wasn’t worth confirming, not like this. That wasn’t fair to Sam, not one bit. Guy opens his mouth to say, “you know what? You’re right, it can wait until the morning” of which then he’d invent a fake question to ask when the day shone through their window. Guy opens his mouth, but Sam has always been the faster of the two of them. 

“I can’t read,” he admits. Then, he reaches over to the lamp and turns the light out. Guy can hear him in the dark, shuffling to face away from him. It was pitch black, and Guy feels for his own bed after a moment, eventually tucking himself in. 

He can’t hear the usual, even breathing that comes from Sam as he sleeps. 

That’s okay. He’s not sleeping either, after all. 

“I’m sorry for pushing. I… I told you I wouldn’t do that, but I think I just did.” 

Sam’s reply is belated. “I’m sorry for lying. I don’t think I said that I wouldn’t do that anymore, but I am trying to, yano… not. ‘S just habit.” 

“But why?” 

Sam laughs. It’s kind of nice that Guy can’t see him in the dark, in that moment, because he’s not sure what kind of an expression would be there if he could. “Why what- the reading, or the habit?” 

He shrugs. Sam obviously can’t see it, so he says, “either.” 

“Rolling the dice, eh?” 

“I like my odds.” 

Sam snickers. 

The darkness of the morning can only get lighter from there, but it doesn’t seem to. 

“When I was at the orphanage, they wanted me to learn,” Sam says quietly. Very, very quietly- it’s almost as if he’d never spoken, Guy has to lean more to the edge of his own bed to make sure he doesn’t miss anything. “Yano, at the school, there. But it was so hard to focus. I was never very good at school, even when I tried, and I _really_ tried. I did, no matter what the teachers there would say,” he assures, almost aggressively, like he’s forgotten Guy is there altogether. “But I was no good at it. An’ kids who can’t click with words were rarely adopted by good people, or at all. Too much work.” 

Sam trails off. He sounds tired, though Guy feels wide awake, and there are about a dozen responses he could have to that. Deciding to just say what was on his mind, Guy turns to face Sam even where he can’t see him. With no reflection of light anywhere in the room and only the barest tint of a rising sun hardly having made its way over the horizon line, Guy can’t even see what position Sam had taken on his own bed, if they’re even facing each other at all. “Did nobody there offer help? No learning assistance, or- or- or-” 

“Well, it was more of aaaaaaa, ‘you fail, you fail, you fail, strike three, no dinner for you’ kind of situation over there. It’s actually kind of funny-” he continues, all the while Guy clutches his blankets tight, admittedly thinking the opposite, “-because when you did bad, they treated you like you _were_ bad. Like the two things were interchangeable. An’ when they would get mean about it, I’d just kinda zone out or go somewhere else in my head. Then I just started doing that in classes, and then I started doing that during chores, and sometimes when people would just be talking to me, too. And I think I was… I was seven the first time I realized nothing felt real, anymore. And the CPS was really good at catching escaped kids, so I had to get better at escaping.”

Sam’s voice is barely heard by the end. Though, Guy isn’t willing to believe it’s out of drowsiness at all. Sam sniffles, a little, and it makes sense. 

It’s a small, short lived sound- the sniffle. Like he’s about to cry, but also isn’t. Like he’s stopping himself. When Sam doesn’t continue, the quiet begins to feel like it’s his fault and it’s steadily more apparent, at least to Guy, that he has to say _something._ “Sam, I’m so sorry.” 

Sam doesn’t say much to that. “It’s fine. I wasn’t the only kid there.” 

That doesn’t make it better. If anything, that’s _worse,_ because growing up in those conditions could never be fair. Suddenly, Guy wants to hug Sam. 

And see, Guy is _not_ a hugger. Sure, he’s been known to snuzzle in the face of danger, but in his down time? No. Certainly not in the earliest hours of the morning, either. 

He pats the edge of his bed and scoots over, flipping back the edge of his blankets. “C’mon, Sam.” 

The sound must make sense, even in the dark. He hears Sam say, “Ya?” 

Guy hears himself say back, “Ya.”

Sam scurries over to sit next to him in the bed. He lays down, usually _far_ too close for comfort, with his head on Guy’s chest. Their fur mushed together felt warm. 

Guy, for once, doesn’t mind. 

“Did you ever get adopted?” he finds himself asking, even when he knows they’re best off just falling asleep, by that point. 

He feels Sam hesitate before nodding against him. “Buncha times.” 

There’s a lot to unpack with that, but even Guy knows that now isn’t the time. “I won't leave you,” he assures softly, because it feels important that it be made absolutely clear, now. Especially with Guy’s track record of attempting various times to do exactly that. “Not if you don’t want me too.” 

Sam holds him just a little tighter. He doesn’t respond, but oh, he does, in that alone. It’s a soft tug, a meaningful one. To Guy, it feels like home. 

Oh, how heartfelt it is to love when love used to be fake. 

It matters so much these days, and also those nights, when you’re happy to stay awake. 

It matters in the morning too, and also on those frozen afternoons. 

You know, the kind that makes you both shake and swoon? 

“How’s the journey going?” asks Michellee over the phone. Guy wraps the toll-cord around his fingers as he leans into her voice. 

“Super well. Nobody has been arrested yet. That’s bliss in my books.” 

Michellee hums, like she’s deciding if she should laugh or not. “Stay safe, okay? We’ll have to find a half-way point to meet up with you boys. Where are you headed next?” 

Guy thinks. He isn’t sure. Sam is really the direction man. He scratches his chin, thinking it over; he can see Sam in the diner across the street, eating his green eggs and ham, and he wishes instead of telling her, he could show her. 

He gets it, though. She has a job to keep, and a daughter to raise. He wants to help Sam, but he wants to be with her, too. Though, it feels… different. Like the two can’t be evenly weighted. And when the time came to choose, it never really felt fair to call it a choice. He’d gone with Sam, and whatever he and Michellee had has shifted. Reformed. Lessened, maybe. 

He doesn’t know. They haven’t had the chance to talk about it. Maybe they could now, but… 

He turns back to the phone, and holds it back up to his ear. “I’ll have to ask Sam next time, before I call. We’re following that egg company right now, but the zig-zags are more out of skittishness than practicality, I do believe.” 

“What is he so afraid of?” 

A good question, really. 

Guy has already asked that, once he noticed their town-hopping pattern seemed to be anything _but_ an exact route. When he’d asked Sam, the man had said, “It is? Aw, Shoot.” He’d pretended not to notice while he kept doing it, and Guy figured he was avoiding certain places for a reason he wanted to keep private. Maybe more gun owners. Guy wouldn’t complain if that was the case.

“I might have to ask him that, too,” Guy settles on. Michellee, bless her soul, smiles through the receiver. They part their ways on the line shortly after that, and Guy hangs up with an air of uncertainty. Maybe what they had was… well, not what he wanted, at first, but it was still something he wanted to keep. So, he smiles, because he was building his own little community, and it was something he was rather proud of even if it was undefinable. 

It falls, admittedly, rather quickly. Especially at the sight of Sam no longer in his seat across from the diner, with the plate of green eggs and ham half eaten. Sam _never_ left a plate unfinished- not even for an emergency trip to the bathroom, not without at least getting someone to watch it for him, but nobody was there except for a waiter behind the counter cleaning a glass cup with a rag. 

Guy slams the diner door open and points to the plate. “The yellow man that was eating the green eggs and ham, where did he go?” 

The waiter blinks slowly at him. “Ah… the little guy? Him and his buddies left out the back door,” he says, then points at the door across from where Guy was standing. As for why a diner needed two customer exit doors on either side of the dining area was a mystery beyond mysteries, but he was an inventor, not an architect. So, he rushes over to the indicated door and looks around rapidly- he can’t see Sam anywhere, nor anybody else. Except- there, in the dirt, four sets of _much_ bigger footprints than that of Sam’s (or his own, for that matter), very fresh and heavy in the ground. Possibly from carrying something, or someone. Of course, Sam weighed practically nothing, but he did just eat half and order of green eggs and ham. It had to be him. Guy trails the footsteps, following them around until they stop at a sidewalk, from there continuing as dusty footprints, likely caked to someone’s feet. 

Gross, but Guy follows it like a lifeline. He’s so busy looking down and tracking where they lead that he nearly bumps into a child; he apologizes, and while looking up, sees four tightly-bound bodies turn a corner into an alleyway. 

Sam’s hat is visible for only a second, but it’s enough for Guy to roll up the fur on his arm like sleeves and charge after them. 

It’s across the street, so a bit of a jaunt, and he only slows when he’s about to peer down the alley. 

He stops when he hears the sound of Sam talking rather hysterically, leaning in just enough to see what he’s dealing with. “-sure, we can totally do that it’s just that’s not really what I do anymore, yano, I’ve sort of been on this path of self-discovery that doesn’t really involve that level of smuggling anymore, and yano, we did some good business together in the past and we should probably just leave it on a good note, don’t wanna milk the-” 

“No milking. Just business,” says the tallest of the four men- blue, angry, and Guy has his head over the edge of the ally just enough to see his sharp teeth. “You still owe me. Didn’t I save your life?” 

Sam is pinned up on the wall, one shoulder held up by a yellow man, the other by a green one. The fourth says just as little as he does. Against his constraints, Sam nods. “You did, Nico, you totally did. And I am super grateful. I really am, you know, but I helped you carry a _lot_ of stuff over the border already and I-” 

“You told us you would do _anything_ for me,” the man, Nico, drawls. Guy is clearly outnumbered- was Sam in immediate danger? Should he just hope in, or would a plan be better? “-and I said, _great. Work for me_ . You said, _sure_. Because you had nothing better to do, eh? But then you left. No goodbye or nothing. And I never said,” he snarls, “that you could go. When you make a commitment to Nico, you keep it. You got it?” 

Sam sighs. To Guy’s surprise, he looks down at his feet, not even touching the floor thanks to the hands holding him up. “I got it, Nico… give me half a year. Half a year, and I’ll come back to working for you.” 

“Ya? I don’t believe it.” 

His teeth are sharp, drooling, and in Sam’s face. Guy is still figuring out how to step in. If he just hopped out and surprised them, they could just grab Sam and run, and Guy wouldn’t be able to keep up in a city he wasn’t familiar with and when he didn’t know who he was dealing with. He needed a better plan then that- he was starting to formulate one when Sam nods fervently, nose scraping against the proximity of Nico’s jaw. “I swear, okay, I will!” 

“Swear on your mother’s life.” 

Sam pales. Guy’s brain stops working. 

Nico is all smiles. 

“I… um…” 

“Hey!” Cries Guy, having heard quite enough of that. The head’s all turn to face him, the view of Sam’s being blocked by the heavy bodies surrounding him. 

Guy hadn’t quite gotten to the ‘plan’ part of his plan yet. Sam was the one who was quick on his feet- there wasn’t much to invent within an alley. He had to think quick- four big guys, two holding Sam against the wall, one snarling in his face (Nico), and one watching from beside him. WWSD? _What Would Sam Do?_

Guy puts his briefcase down on the floor and steps on it, harbouring a grin that is only slightly wobbly. 

All eyes are on him. So, he clears his throat, then pats the case on the hard concrete ground. “In this suitcase is seven-hundred bruckles. It’s yours, if you let my partner there off the hook. Payoff for all the work he’d do for you.” 

Sam says nothing, but his eyes flit between his and Nico’s, a large hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. The larger, burly man turns, steps forward. His eyes don’t leave Guy’s, not even to look over the unremarkable attache sold in most major stores. 

He laughs. “Partner, eh? Didn’t think you could land one, Sam. Not with all the,” his hands become pretend puppets and he sticks his tongue out of the side of his mouth, “neuh, neuh, neuhing.” He laughs again, and Guy sees Sam look back to the floor. He frowns, stands a little straighter. 

“Well, you’re wrong. And I’m making you a serious offer, here. I don’t want anybody here to be hurt.” 

Nico growls. “Ya, and what makes you think you could hurt us? If Sam’s got that kinda money and he’s lookin’ to give it away easily, he’s tryna get us to clean it, isn’t he?” He _tsks._ “Not fallin’ for that again. Keep your dirty bruckles. I got what I need.” 

Guy doesn’t know what that means. He’s had the fortune to not be present amongst illegal dealings, and he didn’t like cartel shows. He hardly even knew how to open a bank account on his own, not without phoning in for assistance. So, he’s really shooting his shot as he continues; “Ya, well, it’s clean, bucko. You wanna see?” 

Nico steps forward. “You’d best be scrammin', pal. You can do a lot better th’n this one, anyways.” 

“Well, I don’t want to.” 

The words are true, as odd as they are to hear from his own mouth. Guy sees Sam smiling from where he’s being held back, even behind the hand over his mouth. Nico rolls his eyes. “Rock bottom must’a been tough on ya, then. Alright, lets see what ya got, Orange,” he finally agrees waving Guy to hand over the case. It takes him a moment, but he scrambles to grab it, and with one clean motion it’s resting in the palm of Nico’s hands. 

Nico feels it, gives it a little shake. It rattles, and he smiles, seemingly satisfied. 

He opens the case. 

Guy watches with glee as one of the gloved, robotic hands from his most recent invention- the seat-booster, so that in the next high-speed chase (there will, presumably, be more), Sam can do the high-speeding for once- springs up and punches him in the jaw. 

It happens fast. Nico falls backwards with a cry, dropping the suitcase; Guy grabs it, reaches for Sam, who wastes no time biting down hard on the hand around his mouth. The man holding him there springs backwards with a howl, and Sam pushes back against the wall to slip out of the grip of the other, who fumbles to grab him again. 

Guy’s reach for Sam succeeds, and Sam grabs his arm, and the taller of the two plucks the smaller out of harm’s way. 

And they run like hell. 

There’s something to be said there, with words to be found nowhere. 

Maybe that’s fine, because words are a good start, but they aren’t ever enough.

Sometimes actions translate for the heart. Sometimes, that’s what smoothes the rough.

“Are you,” Guy pants, “okay?” 

Sam huffs out a deep breath next to him, slumping down against the wall. “Peachy.” 

Guy slides down next to him, and they're close enough for their fur to be sticking up on their shared sides from proximity. Sam takes off his hat and sits it on the floor next to him, making it easier for him to rest his head against the wall. The building they sat against was some kind of a cafe, though Guy had never heard of it and suspected they’d never be able to afford it. Though, with the sun getting lower in the sky, it could also be that nobody was interested in night-coffees the way a younger Guy used to be. 

Guy looks Sam over while his eyes are closed. He’s still breathing heavily, but he doesn’t look injured- he’s sagged nearly against Guy by this point, likely out of relief. 

Guy tears his eyes away, but he’s not quite sure what else to look at. He settles on fiddling his toes and watching them go. 

He’s aware that, now that the adrenaline is worn off, it’s late enough to be cold out. They’d have to find somewhere to sleep for the night before shop owners knew they were desperate enough for a place to say, they’d hike up the prices past what they could afford. He doesn’t want to leave Sam to go looking on his own- that had gone bad enough last time, reading required or not. 

So, with a sigh, he gets on with it. “Sam, we need a place to stay. You know, for the night?” 

With a sigh, his smaller companion groans. “Ya. You’re right.” 

Neither of them move. 

Guy frowns. “Are you really okay?” 

Sam’s eyes are scrunched shut, his knees tucked in tight. At the question, he blows a raspberry. “No. I will be, though. I just- that was a really close call.” 

Guy nods, but he’s not entirely sure what it was a close call to. He’s not entirely sure what to say, either. They wait a few moments longer. After a few deep breaths, the darkening sky dropping by degree and shade alike each time their eyes closed a little longer, losing light; Sam and Guy waiting in the dark for the moment to become right. Eventually, Sam pushes himself up, and Guy follows after. 

They make it to a hotel in time for static prices but not for seldom two-beds. Neither bat an eye at the thought, now. They enter the room, each tucking themselves into either side of the bed, ready for the rest to come naturally. In the air is the sound of breathing, and against Guy’s fur is the touch of shaking. Sam is, as expected, the cause- though he doesn’t say anything about it. Instead, Guy reaches out- he finds Sam’s hand above the covers and gives it a squeeze. He holds it, then, until the shaking subsides, replacing the motion with unstunted breath. The sleep comes easy after for both of them, and Guy wonders many things. 

He wonders who Sam is. He’ll likely never have an answer to that, but he has made his own for it. A clingy little man. A loving little man. A criminal, with the sweetest smile, and honest eyes. 

A friend. 

(A friend...?)

It doesn’t matter if Sam won’t tell him. Guy knows what matters. Sam is a good person, and Guy won’t give up on him, or give him up- not where it can be helped. 

He’s always been bad at friends; he confuses it for love too often. He thinks about Michellee. She has a special place in his heart. But it wasn’t… the same. And he knew that from the first date they went on together, when they laughed it off and hugged each other, knowing who they were meant to be didn’t line up quite the way they thought it might. They hadn’t talked about it, but they hardly needed to. Her and E.B. would always be his family. 

Sam would always be something different. And he doesn’t know quite what, not yet. He doesn’t know much about his friend at all. But he knows what matters, and that’s that it’s worth being patient for. 

Sam grips his hand a little tighter, eyes still soundly shut in sleep. Guy can hardly make him out in the dark, but he knows where his hand is, and he holds it a little tighter, too.

**Author's Note:**

> gay rgighst


End file.
